The Drop Zone

by Boyes, Shandi

  “Thirty.”

  Air whistles between his teeth. “Jesus. That’s nearly halfway to the grave already, no wonder you’re so uptight.”

  He thinks he’s teasing me, but I don’t see it that way. “Yep. You’re exactly right. I’m halfway dead. Does that make you happy?”

  That stumps him. Not enough to stop me from leaving but enough to shelf his retaliation to my question. “Jamie…”

  I shouldn’t like the way Colby makes my name sound sexy. I should hate him and everything about him and his youth, but for some stupid reason, I don’t. My life is so mundane, my every thought the past two weeks was wondering what witty comment his next email might contain.

  “I like you…” he nudges his head to the door Brad just walked through, “… but I can’t stand him. He’s not right for you.”

  “You don’t know that, and you’re also not the first friend of mine to dislike Brad. That’s okay. You don’t have to like him to be my friend.” He cringed at the first friend comment, so you can imagine his response to the second one, but before I can work out what his look means, my name is called by the very man we’re discussing. “I have to go.”

  “Back to doucheface Brad. Yippee for you.”

  “Now you’re just acting immature instead of being immature.” Ignoring his juvenile eye roll, I lean in to place a kiss to his cheek before realizing that isn’t something I’d usually do with a client. But that’s okay, isn’t it? We’re friends. I kiss my friends goodbye all the time. “I’ll be in contact later this week with details on the specialist I want you to visit. If she gives you the all-clear, you’re one step closer to having full coverage again.”

  When he attempts to protest, I push my finger against his lips. “You agreed to my terms earlier this week. This doesn’t change anything.” I wave my hand between us as if we’re a ‘this.’

  After a second cheek peck and a stern warning to myself to back the hell up before I ruin not just my life but those I care about the most, I dart out of the room.

  “I still think you should tell him his ring sucks,” Colby shouts as I break into the foyer.

  “Yeah, well, I still think you shouldn’t judge girls by the number of buttons they have undone.”

  His laugh warms up the icy cold glare Brad is giving me. Lucky, or I may have been dead by now.

  “You ready?”

  After accepting the coat he’s holding out for me because he’s too warm with adrenaline to wear it, I nod. “Yes, lead the way.” Like you always do.

  Chapter 11

  Jamie

  “If we keep meeting like this, rumors about our engagement will return.”

  I stop swirling a cheap glass of merlot around my glass to raise my eyes to my greeter. I recognize the voice accosting me, I’m just too stunned not to act surprised. “Like you wouldn’t like that. Women chase harder when they think they’re close to losing something.”

  Colby slots onto the stool next to me before requesting a shot of tequila from the bartender. “Is that why you chase after Brad like a lost puppy?”

  I set down my glass, no longer in the mood for company, let alone bitter wine.

  “I’m joking. Don’t go. Sit.” His hand darts out to seize my wrist like he did Saturday. “I promise I won’t mention his name again.”

  I stray my eyes to his. “Unlike the hundred times you brought it up in our emails over the past four days?”

  Guilt crosses his features before a smirk swipes it away. “Yeah. Like that.” He bumps me with his shoulder, his mood playful for a Wednesday night. “What are you doing out this way, Prim? Thought this type of establishment would be below your standards.” Colby swipes his finger down my nose to amplify a point I don’t have.

  “You can be assured I’m not here for the wine.”

  He grimaces. “That bad?”

  Nodding, I hand him my glass. “You’ll never believe how bad without experiencing it for yourself.”

  I expect him to reject my offer, so you can imagine my surprise when he downs a hefty mouthful. As heat roars through my body, my thighs press together. I’m not burning up because it’s a humid night, it’s from the way Colby’s lips brushed the lipstick smear on my glass when he took his sip. It wasn’t accidental. He lined it up like he’s dying to taste the flavor of my lip gloss.

  After swishing the red concoction around his mouth, he swallows. “It’s not the worst I’ve tasted. With the right palette, I could handle it.”

  Colby hands my glass back to me, then arches his brow, requesting me to answer his original question. Nerves twist my stomach. I didn’t skirt his question for no reason—it’s because he swore only seconds ago not to mention Brad’s name again. I don’t see him keeping that promise when I tell him why I’m hanging out at a bar alone on a Wednesday night.

  When his glare reaches a point I can’t ignore, I swish my tongue around my mouth to loosen up my words. “We were supposed to be taking a dance class.”

  “We?” His brittle tone reveals he knows my answer, and he’s just being an asshole.

  “Brad and me. He doesn’t want me stomping on his feet during our bridal waltz, so he requested me to get lessons beforehand. I agreed on the stipulation he came with me. He’s not keeping his end of the deal.”

  “So why sit here? Why not go home?”

  “And wallow in an empty apartment like a loser? I’d rather drink nasty wine.” Which I do rather quickly when the taste of Colby’s lips hit mine. He hasn’t even downed his tequila yet, but I can still taste the lemon and salt lingering on his plump lips. “So why are you out alone on a Wednesday?”

  My eyes rocket to his when he answers, “I’m not alone.”

  “You’re not.” You know those super cute little girls with high piggy tails and dimpled cheeks? Imagine them crying. That will give you an indication of the expression on my face. “Who are you here with?”

  When he nudges his head to the left, I peer past his shoulder. An attractive young woman with pixie blonde locks, wintry blue eyes, and a plaid shirt undone at a precise three buttons smiles when she catches my eye. “She’s cute.”

  Colby laughs at the highness of my tone. “You’re cute… when you’re jealous.”

  “I am not jealous!” I am, which is utterly ridiculous, but there’s no denying it. Even after all the awkwardness on Saturday, we continued with our email communications for the past four days. Once again, they’re strictly platonic, but still the highlight of my day. “But I do feel guilty I stole your attention from your date.”

  Humor flames Colby’s cheeks. “She’s not my date.”

  “She’s not?” Someone remove the wine from my hand, I’m clearly over my limit.

  He shakes his head, sending sprinkles of blond locks into his eyes. “No, she’s my sister.”

  After waving for the blonde to join us, she slips out of her booth and makes a beeline for us. Her steps are so fast, not even her tiny frame stops me from feeling her thunderous stomp. “Hi, Jamie. I’m Cate with a ‘C’ McGregor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Hi, Cate.” I can’t hide my shock she knows my name. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  Cate is a bundle of excitement, but her presence has things slipping into awkward quickly. Not because she’s annoying, but because it’s taking everything I have not to grill her on what Colby has told her about me and for exactly how long he spoke about me.

  Determined not to let unease steal the show, Cate asks Colby, “Did you find out why she’s here alone?” She swings her eyes to me. “He’s been watching you for ages, but was too chicken to come talk to you.”

  “I wasn’t chicken.” I smirk when Colby’s high tone doesn’t back up his claim. “You appeared to be enjoying the solidarity, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Cate leans in real close. “He’s a chicken.”

  My nose screws up when I laugh. I love their dynamic. They have very similar personalities—nearly as perverse as their looks.

&nbs
p; I throw Colby a lifejacket. “I was supposed to be taking a dance class with—”

  “Brad stood you up, didn’t he? You’re right, Colby, he’s a douche.” Cate’s eye roll suits her age, which I’d guess to be around twenty-two.

  “That’s not entirely true. He’s just…” always disappointing me, “… busy. His work is very important.” I freeze as I’m hit with a second wave of confusion. “Hold up, how do you know about Brad?”

  Cate slaps Colby in the chest. “I’m his little sis. He tells me everything.”

  Now I really want to grill her.

  “We’re as thick as thieves. That’s why I’m confident he really wants to do this even though he’ll deny it.” She plucks Colby from his seat before placing his hand in mine, her strength admiring for how tiny she is. She’s the size of a fairy. “Time to learn the foxtrot.”

  When she nudges her head to the dance studio across the street, I choke on my spit. “Colby doesn’t want to dance with me, do you?” Someone call up losers anonymous as they’ve got a new recruit in training—me.

  I expect Colby to chuckle out a ‘no’ before telling me he’d rather saw off his arm than be caught dead in a couples’ dance class with Mrs. Valeria Palencia. Instead, he downs his shot of tequila and jerks his head in the direction Cate gestured before saying, “Lead the way, Ms. Burgess.”

  “Really?”

  I don’t know why I’m surprised. Only someone related to him by blood could accuse him of being a chicken.

  Chapter 12

  Colby

  Jamie’s big aqua eyes pop out of her head when Mrs. Palencia straightens her spine with the cane she’s been tapping on the scuffed wooden floor the past fifty-five minutes. “Bum in, chest out, chin up.”

  The nipples I’ve been striving to ignore brush my torso when Jamie pushes her chest out as instructed. Since her breasts are natural, they’re not as in my face like some women I’ve dated, but their ripeness ensures I can’t miss them every time they get friendly with my torso, arm, or back during the many routines we have stumbled through the past hour.

  I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told myself she’s taken. Her perfectly plump titties stroking my chest should be as disturbing as a man’s ass landing in my crotch every time we execute a perfect landing, but it isn’t. And no matter how many times I tell myself to back the fuck up, Mrs. Palencia forces us back together. I would hate Cate for putting me in this position if it weren’t against the rules.

  I’m not here purely because I’m a closet dancer who used Jamie’s predicament to my advantage. It’s because Cate is kicking my ass in the dare game we’ve been running the past four years. I was already a dozen or so points behind her tally before I refused her dare to approach Jamie three times before finally succumbing to the pressure. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Jamie, I just don’t want to give her the wrong idea.

  Like emailing her two dozen times a day is perfectly acceptable, fuckface.

  When Mrs. Palencia floats to the couple next to us, Jamie lifts her eyes to me. “Sorry.”

  I act ignorant of her remorse. “For?”

  Her throat works hard to swallow before she gestures to the minute snick of air between us like I’m unaware of the little peaks peering up at me, begging to be touched.

  After sending a warning to my cock to stay flaccid, I flash her a cheeky grin. “I’d rather their collision than your big hoofers stomping on my toes again.”

  Jamie’s pout is as cute as fuck. I’d twang her lip if our dance instructor didn’t just position us for our next dance. The way the male dancers’ faces surrounding us lit up when they were informed what our next dance was has my interest piqued. They’re wearing the look all men get when their date admits they enjoy giving head—and they mean it.

  Mrs. Palencia taps her cane onto the ground two times, demanding the group’s attention. “The Bolero is a slow, expressive dance that evokes romance and love. Through both music and movement, you’ll make sensual love to one another. Yes?”

  Everyone but Jamie and I reply with a hearty, “Yes!”

  “Good. Let’s dance.”

  As Mrs. Palencia makes her way to the music player in the corner of the room, I glare at her like she’s an untouched bottle of water, and I was born in a country without clean drinking water. I’m Colby fucking McGregor—adventure capitalist, inductee into the Playboy Mansion Hall of Fame, and have a cock half an inch bigger than my brother’s, but I can’t do this. This is above me or below me or whatever the fuck level is needed to get me the hell out of here. I don’t make love—not even with my clothes on.

  Mrs. Palencia sees my panic, but she leaves me hanging. I don’t know whose grandmother she is, but I’m confident they’re ashamed of her right now. Who does that? Who leaves a man hanging when he’s not even drying his own laundry?

  I stop glaring at her like my eyes are able to burn her at the stake when Jamie says, “We can go. It’s fine.”

  “What?” How is it she can feel my unease, but a lady who deals with couples all day can’t? “I thought you wanted to do this?”

  “I do. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

  When she attempts to lower her hands, I tighten my grip. Now I understand how she knows I’m apprehensive. Don’t worry about water. I’ve got enough wetness on my hands to fix the drought in Australia.

  “I’m good.” I’m not, but I sure as fuck am not letting Jamie down like her douchebag fiancé. “I’ve just never done this before. It’s a little daunting.”

  “To you? The Colby McGregor. Surely not.” Even with music floating in the air, we remain perfectly still, attached at our chest, hips, and crotches. “Don’t you know dancing is just like sex—”

  “Only slower and more tempting.” Mrs. Palencia’s polish accent is nearly as thick as the hair on her top lip. “For a man known in the media for his moves, you’re as stiff as a board.” Any worries about me getting a stiff are a thing of the past when she unpeels Jamie from my front to take her place. “Watch the other couples, mimic their movements until the music eventually overtakes you.”

  I will never see the roll of my hips in the same light again when Mrs. Palencia uses her grip on my ass to grind herself against my crotch. I’m reasonably sure she’s not dry-humping me—she’s so old, her orgasms would have dried up right around the time I was born—but the color of her cheeks has me suspicious. It’s muggy tonight, but her dance studio’s cooling is so adequate, my balls tucked inside myself when we entered to ensure they didn’t get frostbite.

  “Be the bull, Colby, and I’m the matador.”

  What? Is she asking me to ram her?

  “Follow the fluidity of the matador’s cape… lithe and free.”

  Ohh, I much prefer that analogy than her earlier one.

  “Loosen up and float with the music… slow and sensual.”

  When she weakens her vice-like grip on my ass cheeks, Jamie moves closer before she eventually returns to being my dance partner. With my worries about getting a boner a thing of the past, I move more freely than I have the past hour.

  “Yes. Like that. Perfect!”

  My body isn’t plastered to Jamie’s as it was earlier, but the almost-touches as we move similarly to the dancers around us are just as arousing. It’s a teasing, carnal dance that’s slow pace shouldn’t be sexy, but somehow is. It’s similar to the waltz but more fluent with near-touches instead of constant contact.

  “Slow, quick, quick, slow, quick, quick.”

  Within minutes, Mrs. Palencia’s instructions fade into the background. We’re still novices, however I need nothing but the electricity bristling between Jamie and me to guide my steps. It is as blistering as the smiles on the faces of the people surrounding us when I switch our moves from the slow, controlled pace of the bolero to ones you’d expect to see at a rockabilly event. We twist and bob around the dance studio like Sandy and Danny in Grease without a care in the world. I’m sure we look like we�
��ve been smoking crack to the people milling past the dance studio’s windows, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ve never had so much fun with my clothes on.

  After blowing a raspberry, Mrs. Palencia slices her hand through the air, permitting the rest of her students to dance freestyle with Jamie and me. They immediately jump to her command, with their dance moves as risqué and as random as ours. Even Mrs. Palencia gets in on the act. She takes Mr. Gardner for a whirl around the dance floor, her style a cross between the raunchy rumba and the jive. For a lady in her seventies, she’s got all the moves.

  “Oh my God, look!” Jamie points out a couple in their fifties just as the husband tosses his wife into the air. She lands with her legs curled around his waist and a mammoth smile stretched across her face. They’ve clearly done this before, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to get in on the action.

  “Wanna give it a whirl?”

  “Nooo.” Jamie backs away from me with her head shaking and her eyes wide.

  It’s a pity for her I haven’t let go of her hand for the last twenty minutes. “Come on. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know… I could break my neck?”

  I give her a look. Don’t ask me which one. I’m too exhausted to explain my facial expressions.

  “If you hurt me—”

  “I won’t. I promise.” I drag her closer to the couple with all the moves, pretending my vow didn’t have a double meaning. “We’ll go slow. Not just for your benefit but mine as well. I like my nuts where they are. They wouldn’t look good dangling next to my Adam’s apple.”

  She giggles. It’s ten times cuter than her pout.

  We watch the couple for a few minutes before attempting to mimic their dance moves. Our joint laughter roars over the music every time our attempts to spin around each other has our knees and heads knocking, but we continue with our mission, determined the rockabilly couple won’t steal our thunder. We’re younger and fitter, so we should be able to kick their asses.